“It don’t much signify,” says Uraga, in an undertone to Roblez; “we’ve got all out of him we need care for. Still, it may be better to bring him along. No doubt he slipped off to settle some affair of his own—some pilferings, I presume; and will be found at the ranche. Cabo! take a file of men, go back to the valley, and bring the loiterer along with you. As I intend marching slowly, you’ll easily overtake us at our night camp.”
The corporal, singling out the file as directed, rides back towards the buttes, still in sight, while the troop continues its uninterrupted march. Uraga and Roblez again go in advance, the former making further disclosure of his plans to his particeps criminis.
Their confidential dialogue has lasted about an hour, when another of the lancers riding up again interrupts it. He is a grizzled old veteran, who has once been a cibolero, and seen life upon the plains.
“What is it, Hernandez?” demands the colonel.
“Señor coronel,” says the man, pointing to a little speck in the sky, that has just shown itself above the north-eastern horizon, “do you see yonder cloud?”
“Cloud! I see no cloud, unless you mean that spot on the horizon, scarce so large as the crown of my hat Is it that you mean?”
“It is, colonel. And small as it seems, there may come trouble from it. It don’t look much now, but in ten minutes time it will be big enough to spread all over the sky, and over us too.”
“You think so? Why, what is it, Hernandez? El Norte?”
“I’m sure of it. Carramba! I’ve seen it too often. Trust me, colonel, we’re going to have a storm.”
“In that case we’d better bring to a halt and get under shelter. I see nothing here that would screen a cat, save yonder clump of dwarf oaks. In a way it’ll keep the blast off us, and, as we may as well stay under it for the night, it will furnish fuel for our fires. Ride back to the troop. Tell the alferez to bring on the men to yonder grove, and quickly. Let the tents be pitched there. Vaya!”